The Cruelest Month
by Min Daae
Summary: Zuko is too young for this. Pre-series.


Zuko is too young for this.

Iroh knew that Zuko would be furious if he heard that thought. That he would deny it to his last breath, which Iroh couldn't help but think at this rate would be sooner rather than later. Zuko thought he was full grown at fourteen and would never be convinced otherwise.

But the fact was that he is too young for this; young enough that he won't understand that his father will never welcome him back, too young to bear such total rejection. Too young to absorb the punishment that's been handed to him.

And yet every day he woke up and stood with his shoulders bent under the weight of the world, his father's reminder blazing on his face.

His nephew would kill himself on this pointless search, which was probably Ozai's intention. He was well on his way there already.

Iroh tried to suggest rest when he could, but more often than not Zuko turned on him, accusing him of laziness along with any number of other vices, refusing food and tea and sleep in favor of chasing rumors of dubious origin. Iroh knew that Zuko was chasing his tail, and Zuko knew the same thing, but he refused to admit it. And he was running himself to the bone with this stupidity.

It was beginning to show.

Zuko's head twisted on the pillow, his mouth set in a tiny frown, sweat breaking out on his forehead. A thin whine escaped through his teeth, faintly, and Iroh picked up a wet washcloth and pressed it to his heated forehead. "Father," he said in a thin, small voice. "Father, please…"

Prince Zuko had never been sick before. Iroh wondered if this fever was natural, and almost hoped that it was. That at least it wasn't a spirit sickness that would have his nephew wasting away bit by bit, though he sadly wouldn't have been surprised. No matter how strong Zuko was, there was only so much punishment a man could take.

Zuko tossed and turned, his one remaining eyebrow knitting downward in his sleep. "I promise. I'll find him. I'll come home…"

Iroh sighed. Tea, hadn't he asked someone to bring tea? "Shhh, Prince Zuko. It's time for you to rest now." It was normal for firebenders to run hotter than other people, but the heat rising off of Zuko's body was beyond that. His nephew stirred again, tried to push the covers down, and Iroh pulled them back up.

"Sweat out a fever, my nephew." He got up, and opened the door. "Didn't I ask someone to bring me some tea?"

No one answered, and he muttered something unfavorable under his breath before returning to the bedside. Zuko's hands were clutching at the bedcovers, his eyes squeezed closed as though in great pain. Iroh wondered what thoughts were running behind his eyelids, and wondered if it were better not to ask.

"It's my fault," Zuko said, more faintly. "I'm sorry. It's my fault."

Iroh had pleaded with his brother, argued with him for hours as Zuko lay senseless in the infirmary, his face swathed in bandages.

_He's hardly more than a child! _

_He should have known better. _Ozai looked through and not at him. _Exile is a slight punishment for speaking as he did to a superior. He would understand nothing less._

_To banish him forever with no hope of return teaches nothing! _

Ozai's eyes had glittered. _No hope of return? Very well, I will give him _hope.

Iroh had not understood until later what that promise meant. A pointless offer, something for Zuko to waste his life on uselessly, out of sight and out of mind. Iroh had sent the letter telling his younger brother that he was leaving with the Prince and would not return until they both did.

Ozai had never responded. He probably didn't care.

Someone knocked timidly at the door. "Your tea, sir? I…forgot." Iroh went to the door and managed to smile as he took the tea. The sailor, who he didn't recognize, fidgeted. "Is he any better, sir?"

Iroh blinked, slightly surprised to be asked. And faintly pleased as well, he wouldn't deny that. He knew that his nephew's attitude made him difficult to relate to and harder to like. To hear one person ask about his well being like it mattered… "It would be best," he said slowly, "If we could make land soon."

After a moment, the sailor nodded. "Yes, sir. Understood."

Just as Iroh closed the door, Zuko made a faint sound from the bed and Iroh turned to see him sitting up, one hand pressed to his forehead. "Uncle?" He swayed slightly, sounding confused and disoriented. "What was that about? Is there news about the Avatar?"

The damned Avatar again. Iroh could have cursed him all one-hundred years of his absence, even if it wasn't his fault. Zuko was trying to swing his legs out of bed, his eyes refusing to focus.

"Lie down, Zuko," Iroh said firmly. "No, there's still no word. You need to be resting-"

"I'm fine, Uncle." He staggered to his feet, and almost fell, catching himself on a bedside table. "I need to keep looking-"

Iroh set the tea down with reverence and grabbed Zuko's shoulders, pressing him back down onto the bed. "Don't be foolish, nephew. You're sick. You need rest. And tea. Lie back down."

"No," Zuko said faintly. "No, I can't give up. I'm not sick."

"Under the covers, Prince Zuko," Iroh said gently. "Trust me. It's not giving up. When you're well, we'll begin searching again."

"But we'll lose him," he protested in a small voice. "He could be close by-"

"No one's seen the least sign of him, Zuko. The moment someone does, I'll let you know. We can't lose him if we don't know where he is in the first place. Trust me, my nephew. Right now you need to rest."

Zuko's head fell heavily on Iroh's shoulder. "Okay," he said, and then added, "You promise you'll say something? Even if it's just a rumor, something small…"

"I promise," Iroh said, though he wanted to sigh. "You'll be the first to know."

Zuko breathed out, his breath warm on Iroh's shoulder. "My father loves me, doesn't he?" He said blearily.

Iroh breathed in through his nose. The one person who would never care and the only person whose opinion mattered to Zuko. "I love you," he said, easing Zuko back onto the pillows, but the prince was already sinking.

He sponged Zuko's forehead again and poured himself a cup of tea, sitting down to wait some more, unhappily. Zuko twisted, the scarred side of his face pressing into the pillow. Iroh looked at the unmarred side of his face and couldn't help but think that his brother had ruined something beautiful.

"Life is cruel indeed, Prince Zuko," Iroh said, but Zuko didn't answer, either asleep or pretending to be.

Zuko whimpered, and Iroh knew that in his dreams he must be screaming.

_Spirits, _Iroh thought, gazing at his tea, _let me be enough for this one boy. Don't let me fail him too. _

Zuko tossed again, and gasped, and Iroh slid his hand into Zuko's limp fingers. They tightened suddenly on his hand, squeezing almost painfully. But if it meant that Zuko knew, even a little, that he wasn't alone…

Iroh squeezed back, eyes watchful, less kindly than determined.


End file.
